


Coming Through The Fog

by dysphorie



Series: 4/7 [2]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Blood, Blood As Lube, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, CNC, Car Sex, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Consensual Non-Consent, Dacryphilia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Dominance, Don't @ Me, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Edgeplay, Emetophilia, Face Slapping, Felching, Hair-pulling, I already mentioned dead doves, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kinda, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Spanking, Penile injury, Public Blow Jobs, RACK - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Slapping, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Submission, Vomiting, burst blood vessels, but nothing is explicitly mentioned, gagging, like it's eventually implied there's previously agreed consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie
Summary: Jim never knows when to shut his fucking mouth. Mick knows how to shut it for him.





	Coming Through The Fog

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [set a fire, watch it burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19975084) by [feistycadavers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistycadavers/pseuds/feistycadavers). 



> I nearly never put notes at the beginning but this time I thought it hella sensible to do so lol
> 
> Edit: I keep editing this when bits I missed pop into my head, so feel free to pop back for a reread, see if there's anything new in stock you might enjoy lol
> 
> HEED THE DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT TAG. You have been warned. I've tagged everything I could possibly think of so if you see them and don't like anything similar to them that isn't tagged, assume this probably isn't for you.
> 
> This is technically for Amii, but I doubt she wants it showing up in her gifts section so I opted not to gift it to her. She knows though <3
> 
> Since reading other works where it's been mentioned, I've wanted to write something with Jim puking on Mick's dick, so I started this, and after reading Feistycadavers work, I decided to finish it. This is that thing that itches at the back of my brain when I'm bored and tired.
> 
> I give zero fucks whether anyone likes it or not, but I still hope you do, though comment moderation is on just in case. Like anyone ever comments on my shit anyway lol.

Jim never seems to know when to shut his mouth.

Usually it's a battle to get more than a few words from him when he's in one of his "moods", but other times? Mick wants to sew his fucking mouth shut, or stuff it full til it chokes him and he suffocates on his words. Sometimes he tries, Jim moaning around his cock far preferable to Jim moaning his ear off. Others he hopes Jim will just tire himself out, but he never fucking does. Just keeps going on and _on_ until Mick snaps. Mick wonders if that's Jim's end game: goad him and taunt him until he can't take it anymore and tries to fuck him silent.

They've been driving for what feels like hours and Jim hasn't stopped ranting the whole time. Something to do with something Corey said (because of fucking _course_ it's something to do with Corey. It always fucking is because the Great Big Mouth is nothing but a Great Big Dick sometimes), and Mick knew the second he got off the plane and saw the set of Jim's jaw that it was going to be ball-ache of a journey. And of course, Jim doesn't disappoint; he never disappoints Mick in any way, positive _or_ negative. Mick can read him like a book he knows back to front.

He knows when Jim is happy because he smiles with his eyes, warm and bright and soothing to Mick's soul. He knows when they're practising and Jim scratches his ear really hard, it means he's got a great idea for a riff that he can't put down on paper yet. 

He knows when Jim's upset because that light in his eyes dies out and is replaced with clouds of worry and anxiety. He knows when Jim's anxious because he goes silent unless he's talking about some new kind of music tech he's been fiddling with.

He knows when Jim's just in a bad mood because he goes silent and sulky.

And he knows when Jim's properly frustratingly _angry,_ because he just cannot drop the subject until he's vented out every single little bit of fucking detail about whatever the fuck it is that's bothering him. Which can take _hours_. It's one thing when there's multiple other bandmates to spread the rage around, but when it's all just focused on Mick he could cheerfully slap the taste out of Jim's mouth. It's unfortunate that it's Mick he spends most of his time with because it's inevitably then that Mick has to hear about it ad infinitum.

That's why he's as practised at just getting through that stage as he is. He's managed to mostly tune Jim out, hoping that he's nodding and _uh huh_ -ing in all the right places while trying to navigate unfamiliar streets. Thanks to having to stay behind to do a feature for some podunk guitar magazine while the rest of the band headed back to enjoy their end-of-tour free time, it's just been him and Jim for the past two days. Usually this would be a _good_ thing. He likes Jim. Probably even _loves_ Jim. But _christ,_ the boy needs a chill pill, and Mick needs space, both mentally and physically. They've been living in each others pockets, sleeping in tiny cramped hotel rooms and less than ideal airline seats. He's not sure what hurts more: his head or his knees.

Now they're back in the city trying to find their way to the neighbourhood the end-of-tour party is being held in so they can park in a lot that was described by Sid as _'too grim even by his standards'_. The hire car smells like takeaway curry but it was the only one big enough to accommodate two giants, and he's absolutely choking for a drink. The old multi-storey parking lot they'd been told to park in is in his sights, dim and somewhat foreboding, and he can practically taste the Azul Añejo he plans on downing copious amounts of. He's just wiping the tiniest bit of drool from his chin when Jim's voice breaks into his head.

"...and so I said to him 'shut the fuck up Corey, your mask looks like a lizards buttflap, and - hey! HEY!" Suddenly Jim's in his face and Mick jumps, yelling and yanking the wheel to the side and narrowly avoiding crashing into a burnt-out Toyota Celica. Oh yeah, Curry Car's going to fit _right_ in here. He hauls the car to the side, not giving two fucks that they're straddling two parking spots, and stomps on the breaks, slamming them both back in their seats. Mick's ripping his seat belt off and storming out of the car, just concentrating on getting away from Jim before he does something he'll regret, and it takes tensing every muscle in his body to not crack his fist off Jim's jaw when he's spun back around by Jim grabbing his arm, yanking him back. He's long suspected Jim would be the death of him and right now it's looking like he'll be the death of them _both_.

"Hey, I was fucking talking to you! Don't you dare walk away fr-"

Jim's tirade is cut short by Mick grabbing him by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the car door, getting right into his face.

"Shut. The fuck. UP. Jim," he hisses. Jim's eye's widen, and even in the barely-lit parking garage Mick can see Jim's eyes, big and green and unsure. "Just _please_ , shut the fuck _up_." He shakes Jim to punctuate each word. His temper is bubbling right below the surface, he's clinging to it by a desperate thread and Jim is tugging on it so _so_ hard. Mick hates losing his temper with him. It always ends in tears, even though Mick has to admit to himself that Jim is so pretty when he cries. Inside himself he begs Jim to just drop it, to shut up and let whatever the fuck is bugging him go so Mick can let him go and they can get on with their night. _Please, baby, please for me please just - just don't..._

No such luck. Jim's expression of shock and confusion turns right back to anger, and Mick's heart drops into his stomach at the same time as Jim's mouth drops open. "Mick, I -"

No. _No._

He is _not_ fucking having this.

Jim's teeth cut into Mick's lips when their mouths crash together, but Mick couldn't care less. He just pushes harder, works Jim's lips further open with his tongue and fills his mouth with it, swallowing down Jim's noises of protest. He's trying to get out of Mick's grasp and push him away but Mick keeps pressing their hips together, rams his knee between Jim's thighs and lifts it against him a little more sharply than strictly necessary. Jim grinds against it instinctively, but Mick feels him shaking, hips stuttering uncertainly. Breaking the kiss as Jim gasps he mouths his way along his jaw, bites hard on his earlobe and pulls his earring hard enough to make him bite back a pained noise. Mick's voice sounds like rolling rocks when he growls low, so low, lips to the shell of Jim's ear.

"I'm gonna fuck that bad attitude right outta your goddamned mouth."

Whatever Jim's reaction that is Mick doesn't care, he doesn't notice. He's too busy jerking him forwards and reaching behind him to open the car door. With firm hands he pushes until he's crammed Jim into the car, shoving his head down and pushing against his chest with a barked instruction to _lie the fuck down_. Jim is silent ( _finally,_ Mick thinks), and for a minute the only sound is Mick's heavy panting and the scuffing of his boots on the concrete floor as he walks around the car. The next door nearly comes off it's hinges, and this time Mick doesn't miss the flash of fear that crosses Jim's face when Mick leans over him, seizes the shoulders of his shirt and hauls Jim along the seat towards him, pulling and tugging until his head and neck are hanging off the seat. Mick gives himself a second to take in the scene; Jim's long body is haphazardly sprawled along the length of the back seat, legs hanging out of the other door. The blush that's spread across his's cheeks and spreads down below his shirt collar is so fucking pretty, and he looks scared and fragile, skin pale against the black leather interior. _Thank fuck for SUV's_ , Mick muses; Jim's open mouth is at the perfect height thanks to the cars high seats. 

Just in case Jim hasn't got the hint, Mick rubs his thumb against Jim's lower lip until his mouth opens further, and he hooks it under Jim tongue, forcing his jaw to open more. Jim lets out a hitched breath of anticipation and it ghosts across Mick's hand, makes him shiver. The gargling noise in the back of Jim's throat might be a moan, might be pooling saliva, but Mick doesn't care either way. He just rips his fly open with his other hand, pulls himself out and feeds his length into Jim's waiting mouth. 

The groan starts deep in Mick's chest, creeping up in time with the strokes of Jim's tongue along his length. The rasp of teeth along the underside of his cock is painful in just the right way. Mick's not cruel, he doesn't force his entire dick down all at once, but he's insistent and makes his intentions perfectly clear: he's going to fuck Jim's throat, Jim is going to take it, and Jim is going to like it. He gets a firm grip on the door frame of the car, letting his hips do the work. Jim's hands grip onto Mick's hips, pushing just slightly to stop him pushing too hard. Mick just pushes harder. 

After a few moments he figures he's let Jim adjust enough, and starts nudging harder at the back of his mouth. Jim gags softly, and from this angle Mick can only just see the spit starting to pool in the corners of his mouth. It makes the slide so wet, so easy, that letting Jim take a deep breath before he rocks his hips forward lets him slide down his throat almost effortlessly. Jim still gags, throat muscles clamping down on Mick, making him moan hoarsely. He keeps his thrusts small, just relishing the tight warmth, and glances down. He nearly comes on the spot when he sees the bulge of his cock where it's filling Jim's throat, and he can't resist dropping a hand to run a thumb down the soft skin there, pressing a bit harder where he sees the head is nestled. Jim lurches a bit under him when Mick covers the front of his neck with one big hand, wrapping around it and squeezing just a little. Jim twitches, probably panicking a little, and Mick just has to let him panic for a second before he releases his grip. Just for the way Jim shakes.

The twitch turns into a full-body heave, and Mick just manages to stifle a yelp of pain when both sets of Jim's teeth clench down onto him. _Fuck_ , that hurts, and not really in the good way this time. Red flares in Mick's vision and he pulls back, ripping his dick from Jim's mouth. Jim instantly starts to cough and splutter, spittle flying, but Mick doesn't care. Just grabs his hair and _pulls_. Jim cries out, lost in another hacking cough, as his hands fly up to grip Mick's wrists. He's digging his nails in but Mick can barely feel it. All he can feel is the sharp fizz of anger and frustration running through him. Jim slides from the car, tall frame slithering and twisting around to try to get his feet under him, but Mick doesn't give him the time, ignores Jim's pained noises as his knees slam into the gritty cement floor. He nearly tips over, unbalanced, but Mick still has a firm grip of his hair and he uses it to yank him upright, muffling Jim's objections by cramming his mouth full again. He doesn't let up the hold he has, twists his fingers tighter and uses it to pull Jim's head back and forth. The friction of his wet tongue rubbing hard against the head of his dick is making his knees feel gooey. _Indescribable_ is the only word to describe how amazing Jim is at giving head, and he only seems better at it when Mick's forcing him. Something to do with the way desperation twists his face makes everything about it just - just fucking heavenly. The pinch of pain from Jim's nails is nearly enough to send him over the edge, but he's pulled back by Jim moaning loudly and biting him _again_. Mick swears loudly, yanks Jim's head back and pulls all the way out of his mouth, lets go of his hair and brings the back of his hand down across his face. Hisses out " _Stop fucking biting me,"._ Jim's head snaps to the side, spit tinged red flying wide, and he's only just registering the pain and starting to cry out when Mick grabs his face and turns it back towards him. Shoving his dick as far back into Jim's mouth as he can he ignores the sobs and the way he gags and shakes and fucks into him with abandon, snarling at him yet again to shut up and be quiet. The way Jim is openly weeping around him makes Mick feel dizzy, he fucking loves it when Jim cries. Almost as much as he loves wiping away his tears and kissing everything better.

Jim's hands grab furiously at Mick's jeans, trying to pull him back out of his mouth, but Mick bats them away with one hand and stops thrusting, holding his position. He's not quite bumping the back of Jim's mouth so he still has just enough to room to breathe, and Mick catches his own breath while watching Jim sniffle. Tears are streaming down his face and his beard is soaked with spit, and to Mick he's never looked more beautiful. Slowly he threads his hand back into those soft brown locks, and Jim looks up at him through long lashes, green eyes swimming. His boy is so sweet when he wants to be. Mick makes a soothing noise, strokes the skin at Jim's temples, and nudges his hips forward again. _Hard._

Jim cries and retches. _Hard_. Shoulders convulsing as he sobs in earnest now, desperately trying to breathe through his nose, but it's not enough. Mick watches as Jim's stomach hollows out, threatening to expel everything all over them both. It's too late for Mick to stop though, he _wants_ this, so he just repeats the motion over and over and watches Jim's face get redder and redder. Another twitching heave, another blown-out moan, and Mick can't pull back quite in time before Jim vomits entirely. He pulls back just as it hits his dick and splatters the ground at their feet, mixing with the thick strands of blood, precome and drool that bridge from Jim's lips to Mick's cock. Jim gasps in deep lungfuls of air as if he'll never breathe properly again, spitting mouthfuls of various bodily fluids onto the ground. Mick can't look away, thoroughly enchanted by the sight.

For a moment he lets Jim catch his breath, looks down at him for a sign that he's done, that's he's learned his lesson and is ready to give up and give Mick what he wants. He steps back in and traces the outline of Jim's lips with the head of his cock, expecting Jim to look remorseful, sorry, willing to just fucking behave for the rest of the night.

He _doesn't_ expect Jim to look furious and obstinate, and as he looks at the set of those swollen lips and tear-filled eyes, Mick can tell he was wrong. As if to confirm this Jim snaps his mouth shut, teeth clamped together and bared, breathing hard through his running nose. 

_Jesus FUCK, this boy just does not know when to quit!_ Mick thinks. Even after all that, Jim is still railing against him, trying to get the upper hand. Usually this would be the point where Jim would safeword out, tell Mick he was sorry and that he'll stop complaining and running his mouth, so Mick is a bit shaken, on the back foot because he's never been _this_ rough with Jim before and genuinely didn't expect this result. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He looks down at him, rubs his chin and lets out a single humourless laugh.

For what feels like the millionth time that night, Mick fists his hands into Jim's shirt, hauling him to his feet. Jim sways, doesn't have time to find his footing before Mick is shoving him belly down over the concrete barrier next to the car. The air leaves his lungs with a _whoomph_ , bringing on another coughing fit followed by more spitting. Mick doesn't care, just reaches around to fumble with Jim's belt and fly. His fingers keep slipping and he huffs in frustration. Finally he wrestles Jim's jeans and boxers down below the curve of his ass, too desperate to work them down any further, and kicks Jim hard in the ankle; a silent signal. Jim whines and steps his legs apart, but Mick can tell he's squeezing his asscheeks together. _That's easily fixed though_ , he says to himself, and he licks up his right palm before swinging it down on one peachy cheek. Whatever noise that was going to cause is muffled when Mick reaches forward and seals his hand tightly and firmly over Jim's mouth, leaning in close to his ear. He intentionally lets his voice drop an octave, keeps it dark and threatening.

"I'm going to fuck you Jim, and you're going to let me, and you're going to keep your trap shut," Jim keens again, but it's definitely quieter this time, "If you can't stay quiet, I'll find something to stuff your mouth with and I guaran-fucking-tee you you wont like it as much as my dick."

Jim twitches, gulping hard a few times before nodding his head. _Oh thank fuck_. Mick was convinced this was it; this was where Jim was going to say _red_ and put an end to all of this, and as much as it would pain Mick to stop he would. He'd have to. Pushing boundaries is one thing but he could never live with himself if he truly violated Jim, _his Jim_ , like that.

It doesn't seem like there's much else to be said, so Mick shifts his hand from Jim's mouth to his back, spits into his other hand and rubs his fingers together. He allows himself a brief moment of gentleness, rubs Jim's hole with one slick finger; he so loves the way it lets him in once he's loosened it up.

He doesn't loosen it up. Doesn't give Jim any time to prepare, just rams two fingers all the way in, letting his knuckles rub hard against the spot behind his balls. Jim jerks and Mick doesn't know how he keeps from crying out, but he's _so_ proud of him for doing as he's told. He strokes a hand gently up Jim's back, but it's not a nice kind of gentle. It's the calm before the storm. Flattening his hand he shoves hard, bending Jim double over the barrier til he's head down, ass up, and starts working his arm back and forth with fierce force. The noises are brutal and vulgar, the squelching of his fingers mingling with Jim's quiet coughing and spitting, making Mick's dick twitch hard. He's not sure how much longer he can resist fucking Jim, but he's not sure he's ready yet. Not sure that _he himself_ is ready; he doesn't particularly care if Jim is ready. That's the whole point. Slowing his pace a little he looks down at his hand to watch his digits sinking in to that warm space as he adds a third finger. His stomach lurches a little, and not in a bad way, when they come out red, streaked with blood, frothy from where it's mixed with his saliva. All he can hear now is white noise, his senses obliterated. He can't wait any longer.

Pumping his fingers a few more times he curls them as he pulls out, scooping out as much spit and blood as he can to slick over his dick. It's already slightly sticky and dry, and the way it pulls at his skin is delicious. He spits on Jim's hole once, works it in a little with his cockhead, then starts guiding himself in. It's not an easy slide. Jim's rim is stubborn and he has to push hard to pop his cockhead in. He sees Jim jam his fist against his mouth, the other pulling his own hair, trapping a wheeze in his throat. Clearly struggling but still actually fucking doing as he's told. Affection blooms in Mick's gut, but it's quickly quashed when Jim shudders and squeezes down on Mick's length. Now he's the one gasping and whining out loud, and he can't stop himself from thrusting hard and fast right off the bat. 

He can feel that the quasi-lubricant drying out already, his skin starting to stick to Jim's insides. It's uncomfortable for Mick so it must be borderline excruciating for Jim, but he doesn't stop either of them, neither says a word. Jim just braces himself and lets Mick use him. Mick digs his fingers into the jut of Jim's hips, pressing bruises into the thin skin of the narrow bones. It's good leverage, but not quite enough. With a particularly hard thrust he pushes Jim firmly against the barrier and drapes his large frame over him, holding on to the edge of the concrete. It's sharp and rough, hurts his fingers, but it's easier to grip. _That's_ better. Now he can pound in properly, shallow but hard, and watch the sweat roll down the back of Jim's neck. Jim coughs again, gags again, spews again, though it's mostly foamy bile this time. Mick wants to fucking bite him, lick the sweat off every inch of his body. _God_ , Jim makes him hungry, makes him feel so much raw need it's like he could eat him alive. His boy _is_ going to be the death of him, he just knows it. 

Jim's too tight, too hot, the rub too raw despite Jim still bleeding a little, and Mick can't hold back his orgasm much longer. It's Jim, however, that shudders first, and Mick's hips stutter in their rhythm as his eyes widen. He's been fucking Jim long enough to know when he's coming, but usually he at least _expects_ it to happen. This came out of nowhere, and it's the pressure of Jim coming on his cock that finally wrings Mick's orgasm out of him. _Fucking hell_ it's incredible, surprising and borderline painful in its ecstasy. Mick visions blurs for a second as he chokes, slumping down on top of Jim, feeling the expansion of his lungs as they try to get their breath back. Neither say anything. Mick's not entirely sure he still has the power of speech to be honest. They stay like that for what feels like hours until Mick feels himself start to soften, and he guides this thumb against Jim's hole as he pulls out. Jim's leaning up, head down and weight heavy on his hands on the top of the barrier, shaking visibly. The low pained groan he makes when Mick's thumb touches him is replaced by a soft sigh when Mick drops to his knees and replaces his thumb with his mouth. He follows Jim's body as he stumbles a little, knees weak, and that's when he notices something out of the corner of his eye: a large splash of white fluid on the surface of the barrier, slowly oozing its way down it. It takes him a beat to realise what he's seeing and _f_ _uck_ , he didn't even realise Jim's cock was out of his boxers. Keeping an eye on the blotch of come, he returns to laving his tongue against Jim's hole, an attempt at a reward for being so good, swallowing down the mix of fluids and cleaning him up. Trying to soothe the abused flesh as best he can in the moment. The last mouthful though, he saves and holds in there, and leans to the side, around Jim's legs. He hears Jim mumble something that sounds like a question, it might be _"What are you doing?"_ , but he doesn't answer. It's answered when Mick spits hard, the blob of his come and spit and Jim's blood slamming into the wall and running down in rivulets, mixing in with Jim's fluids. If there's a hotter sight in this world, Mick doesn't want to see it. This, as far as he's concerned, is perfection.

Jim is wobbly and boneless when Mick turns him around by the hips, still on his own knees. The state of Jim's cock makes him suck in a concerned breath. The skin is angry and red, rubbed raw from where it scraped against the concrete, and there's blood beading just a little on the tip from a particularly deep graze. All Mick sees in this is beauty though. His Jim, taken apart and bleeding for him, fucked into submission and silence at long last. He makes a mental note to kiss it better later. With gentle hands he tucks Jim back into his underwear, dusts the grit from where it's stuck into Jim's knees, fastens his clothes, and stands up to look at him. He's a fucking wreck. Mick may have finally properly ruined him this time. He's trembling, hard and visibly, and there are tear tracks streaked down his face, spit drying in his beard, a bruise flowering on his cheekbone. Mick chews the inside of his cheek though, stares as he notices the absolute fuck ton of tiny red spots peppering his paper-white skin. Purpling his neck, spattered across his nose and cheeks, even at the corners of his bloodshot eyes; the burst blood vessels make him look flecked with blood. Mick has to rub his thumb across Jim's cheek to make sure it isn't; some of the spots aren't blood, many others are. Something inside him aches at this, aches at Jim's body bearing proof of Mick's violence. It's beautiful; _he's_ beautiful, like a Castiglia work brought to life. Mick thinks he's a lucky man.

With a soft sound Jim turns his face in, nuzzling against Mick's hand and kissing the palm. He looks sleepy and taken apart, and Mick almost wishes he could bundle him into bed and reward him for his performance. Jim's lips are like velvet against his skin. But...he can't. There's no time, and anyway, Mick can't deny that watching Jim in his current state trying to answer questions about his appearance while trying to knit his emotions back together is going to be a beautiful sight.

Tugging him in, Mick gives Jim a long, soft kiss on the lips. Smiles at him warmly before slapping him once more, almost gently, with his palm. As he turns away to walk towards the elevators to street level, he cheerily calls "Get yourself together, man!" and beckons for Jim to follow him. 

Jim remains motionless for a few beats before he moves, trailing Mick through the building.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is as always from a song. It just occurred to me that I name all my fics after songs then never explain it. Huh. Funny, that.
> 
> dysphorie-by-the-sea.tumblr.com come be my friend


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